


On Contract

by akire_yta



Category: Bandom, Disney RPF
Genre: Hitman!AU, M/M, Multi, sex scenes, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-23 01:52:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akire_yta/pseuds/akire_yta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Jonas and Sons wasn't the kind of firm to list in the Yellow Pages.”  Otherwise known as the Hitman AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Contract

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: kalimai asked for "AU where Kevin is a (faily) hitman and Mike is the mark” (tagalongcookies asked for the Gabe/William bits and xsnarkasaurus added it to her ‘to be completed’ list – blame them)
> 
> =  
> UPDATE: tagalongcookies wrote an awesome Gabe/William coda [ 'if i woke up next to you'](http://tagalongcookies.livejournal.com/3599.html). Go, read, enjoy, tell her how awesome it is!

 

=  
  
Jonas and Sons wasn't the kind of firm to list in the Yellow Pages. You had to know a guy, who knew a guy, who knew a guy. You knew this guy knew you when a courier would arrive with a package containing a burn phone and a plain piece of card with a simple, stylized J engraved on it, with a time and date written in copperplate script. And you would wait for the call.

By then, you could rest assured that Jonas and Sons knew all about you, from your shoe size to your web browsing habits to, most importantly, whether you could pay for their services.

Master craftsmen never came cheap.

Once that call came, you had to audition - tell your story, explain the mark, the reason for the hit. You didn't hire Jonas and Sons - they were _retained_ , discreetly and efficiently. And once retained, they prided themselves on quality service, satisfaction guaranteed.

Kevin leaned against the back wall, under the mounted display of cavalry swords, and listened to the client on speakerphone lay out his tale of woe. From the way his father was nodding, hands steepled together on the desk, he knew the old man was liking what he was hearing.

Kevin glanced at Nick, and saw his own disquiet reflected in his eyes. There was something about this client, the way contact was made, that seemed...well, a little too _something_ for Kevin's taste.

"Very well, sir," his father said into the microphone that would distort his voice. "We require 50% of our fee upfront to commence our operations. The balance due in full within 24 hours of completion of the contract. You will find details of our numbered Cayman's account in the phone's memory. Your request will be completed within the week. Will that be satisfactory."

"Quite."

Kevin was a contract killer, he had no illusions about what he was. But the voice at the end of the phone made him shiver.

"Okay, boys," his father said as the call disconnected. "Who's got a gap in their schedule?"

Nick was shaking his head. "I'm still working my way through the witness list on the Calvetti case," he said easily. "Speaking of, I need to get going. Witness number three takes her afternoon nap soon." With a respectful nod to his father, Nick flashed Kevin a look of warning and bowed out of the room.

Joe was already gathering his things. "Love to, dad, but I need to travel upstate for the Morris job. The client did specify he wasn't to make it home tonight," he added, his nose wrinkling slightly. Joe hated it when the client started nitpicking terms.

"I guess that leaves Kevin," his father said, coming out from around his massive oak desk. He was carrying a red folio, a mark folio. "Unless you too have a pressing engagement?"

Kevin shrugged. "I’m nearly done with my other jobs," he said without inflection. He held his hand out for the folio.

He didn't open it there. He waited until he made it home, checked his security, the booby traps, his answering machine. Grabbing a soda from the fridge, he sat down at the kitchen island and tipped out the contents of the folder. He sipped at his drink as he stared into the eyes of the photograph. "Hello, Mike Carden," he said, reading the name off the dossier label. "Aren't you a handsome fellow. How would you like to die?"

===

Mike Carden was not the usual kind of mark. He wasn't powerful, or rich, or connected. He didn't seem to have any dirt on someone who was. He didn't _know_ anyone powerful, rich, or connected. He was a guy with a two-day old scruff and a shirt that had seen better decades, doing eight hours at minimum wage at a music shop in downtown Chicago.

Kevin sipped his latte, taking notes in code in his leather-bound notepad. The hole-in-the-wall cafe across the street from the shop where Mike sold guitars had decent expresso and an intriguing indie band on the stereo. There were no guards, no secret service, no paranoid despots or psychotic killers feeling kharma bearing down on them.

It would actually be kind of relaxing, if Kevin was the kind of guy who ever relaxed.

As it was, Kevin was...intrigued probably best described it. Intrigued, and feeling his long-dormant curiousity beginning to stir.

Who was Mike Carden that he had made the kind of enemy who had the contacts, resources, and resolve to hire a Jonas?

He tapped his pen against the page. His father had drilled into him, when he was just a kid learning the ropes of the family business, that a true professional satisfied themselves that all avenues of surprise were controlled before making a move. It was all about control. Everything else was just detail.

With a smile, he snapped his notebook closed and stood up, tossing a handful of coins on the table.

He used to play guitar, once upon a time, before his father had taught him a more valuable skill involving catgut strings (the E string was especially useful if you wanted to send a message, G if you wanted a cleaner kill).

Perhaps it was time to revive the hobby.

===  
Mike was lounging against the counter, watching William unpack stock as the bell on the door rang to announce Kevin's arrival. Kevin had timed his entrance so that William was arms-deep in the box, and as anticipated, he had glared at Mike and jerked his head towards Kevin with a harried expression.

Mike jumped off the counter and sauntered over, looking utterly bored and completely unimpressed. "Hey, welcome to Music World, my name is Mike, can I help you," he rattled off.

Kevin let his eyes drift down, to the pen that Mike was fidgeting with in one hand. Right-handed, smoker from the nicotine stains and the way he flipped the pen, calluses from playing guitar, a lot by the looks of it. He let his eyes float back up. Tour shirt, limited edition. Probably a real guitar aficionado, stuck selling cheap knockoffs to people who thought being a rock star meant tight jeans and a great pose. Right, easy.

He met Mike's eyes and gave him his goofiest smile. "Yeah, right, hey, umm, I used to play, and I've kinda got the urge to start again, but I'm not very good..." he lowered his eyes as he trailed off, looking up at Mike through his lashes. "I just need something entry level, but not crap, y'know, with a decent sound."

Mike's pose was shifting automatically in response to Kevin's. "Yeah, no, good on you for picking it up again. We've probably got a few things in that bracket." He began to lead the way across the store to a series of acoustic guitars hung by their necks across the back wall. "Why'd you stop, if you don't mind me asking?"

Kevin shrugged. "My dad didn't like it. His house, his rules." He made a little face, scrunching his nose up. "I've got my own place now, so..." he left the sentence hanging.

Mike made a rude noise under his breath. "Good on you," he repeated quietly but with conviction. "Here," he said, taking down a full-bodied black guitar off the rack. "Try the Ibanez, she's got a sweet sound for a mass-produced guitar."

Kevin made his fingers trip once or twice before ripping out the themesong from The Flintstones. Mike laughed, and Kevin put the guitar aside as he saw William look up curiously from over by the counter. "I see it's coming back to you," Mike chuckled, his posture opening up and relaxing.

Kevin shrugged. "I used to warm up with cartoon themesongs. I think that's what drove dad crazy."

Mike laughed, and forty minutes later Kevin walked out of the shop with a guitar case, an invitation to a gig on friday night, and Mike's cell phone number.

===

Kevin was dressed to kill - black leather boots (with the spring-loaded blades in the heels and toes), tailored jeans (with the handy pockets for his light chain and stiletto blade), button-down over a (kevlar-lined) t-shirt, leather cuff with the titanium scale-skin reinforcement.

"No gun?" Joe asked, flipping a throwing knife between his fingers idly.

"Where would he put it that it wouldn't be completely obvious to Carden?" Nick asked, propped up on Kevin's headboard as he strummed the guitar.

Joe grinned and pointed the tip of his blade at Kevin, letting it slip down Kevin’s body to point to a spot below the belt. Kevin blanched. Nick calmly raised an eyebrow. "I repeat, somewhere not obvious to Carden?"

Kevin cleared his throat. "Uh, pardon?"

Nick adjusted a tuning peg. "He gave you his cell and invited you out to see his band. He wants into your pants. And I don't think a nine mil is what he's expecting to find there."

Kevin scowled at him before turning to paw through his wardrobe, looking for his coat. "He's a mark, Nick. Clock ticking and all."

He heard the strings hum as Nick put the guitar aside. "Kevin, you never took this much care getting ready to go out with Dani, and she was cleared with dad," he said flatly. "And you never ever wear those jeans on a job in case you get blood on them. So come on, fess up."

Kevin stared blankly into the rows of clothes for a moment, before forcing the encroaching thoughts aside. He snatched up the leather biker-style jacket he was looking for. "I'm on the job," he repeated heavily. "Mike Carden is a dead man." Walking over to the other side of his closet, he slid open a wide, thin drawer and took his smallest automatic pistol out of its place. Checking the ammunition, he walked back into his bedroom. "He won't live to see Monday," he promised as he rammed the cartridge home and tucked the weapon into the concealed holster in his jacket.

Nick stared at him for a moment, then bowed in silent acquiescence, still obviously unconvinced.

"Have fun," Joe said. "Call us if you need a hand dumping the body."

Kevin grabbed his car keys. "If you drink my juice out of the carton or get crumbs over my sofa again, it’s your body I'll be disposing of," he said without menace.

Joe laughed and ushered him towards the door. "Don't worry about us, go get your man."

===

Kevin slammed backwards onto the edge of the sink, his hands scrabbling across Mike's back. "This is a bad, bad idea," he mumbled into Mike's mouth.

"Absolutely," Mike agree, panting against his lips, his hands working furiously at Kevin's belt. "Terrible idea."

"Horrible."

"Worst ever."

At that point, Kevin gave up trying to talk and focused on kissing. Mike was fantastic, just the right mix of nips and licks, the burn of his stubble hot against Kevin's skin.

Kevin worked his hands under Mike's shirt, letting his fingers dip in under the line of Mike's jeans as Mike's hands began to wander up Kevin's spine under his jacket.

Kevin froze.

Mike froze.

They stared at each other for a split second.

Kevin pulled the small pistol out of the custom drop-holster tucked under Mike's belt at the same time that Mike pulled the nine mil out of Kevin's jacket. The bathroom was so small they could barely take a firing stance without almost nudging each other with the barrels of their respective weapons.

"Who are you?"

"Who are you?" Mike asked almost on top of Kevin.

Kevin frowned, calculating options. "Kevin Jonas. You?"

"Mike Carden. Shit. That's useless."

Kevin fought the sudden urge to giggle at the absurdity. "What are you?" he asked instead, carefully enunciating each word to keep control of his voice.

Mike sighed, eying the line of the weapon in his hand. "Private contractor. You?"

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "Ditto."

Mike scowled, sudden and fierce. "Fuck, is this someone’s idea of a sick joke? A test? Who hired you?"

"I..." he licked his lips. "I choose not to know the identities of those who retain my services."

"...retain your services?" Mike echoed. "Shit, what the fuck, are you one of those fucking heavy hitter, old school shit."

Kevin was thinking furiously. "I knew there was something wrong about this contract." He blinked and looked up at Mike. "Okay, listen. Professional courtesy. Ten minute time out?"

Mike stared at him for a moment, then slowly tilted the gun up to the ceiling. Kevin matched him, move for move. It was an exquisite ballet of mirrored action, until finally both weapons were down on the counter top. "You first," Mike said with a belligerent jerk of his chin.

"All I know is that whoever paid me wants you dead before Monday. You?"

Mike took the news well. "Whoever paid me wants me to watch William until they say stop. How much was the contract?"

Kevin looked at the muscles in Mike's arms, the casual way his fingers were close to the hems of his sleeves, where no doubt there was a stash of throwing knives. He remembered the weight and balance of the gun he had pulled from Mike's holster, and the speed at which Mike had drawn. "Not enough," he said honestly.

Mike laughed like a man on the gallows. "Listen, cards on the table? I'm more executive protection, spoiled trust fund babies and paranoid dot com millionaires. William’s cool as far as his type goes, but I'm not really feeling the need to die this week."

Kevin bit his lip. Jonas and Sons always see a contract through. Always. It was a point of honour. "Wait,” he blurted out, racing ahead of thought. “Which one is William?" He rolled his eyes impatiently at Mike’s look of confusion. "Is he a trust fund baby or a dot com millionaire?"

Mike huffed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. "Neither, as far as I can tell. He lives in a dive, with four other guys not including me. He's always broke."

Kevin could feel the gears starting to turn. "Then why did he hire you? No, wait," he said before Mike could speak. "Someone else hired you on his behalf, right?"

Mike nodded. "I never could figure out why. I just went with it and took the chance to chill out and play guitar on a grand a day plus expenses." His eyes hardened. "But he obviously needs protection, if you're here."

Kevin felt his stomach burn. "Listen," he said flatly. "Something isn't right here."

"I agree," Mike replied just as calmly. "What do you propose?"

Kevin sucked on his lip, feeling the beard burn from minutes ago. "I have until Monday before questions start being asked as to why you’re still breathing. I propose an amnesty, forty-eight hours to figure things out regarding our clients to our satisfaction."

Mike nodded, but Kevin saw the way his Adam's apple bobbed convulsively. "And if you are satisfied with your customer?"

Kevin took a deep breath and took refuge behind the shield of the professionalism his father had spent a lifetime drilling into him. "Then on Sunday night I will kill you. Nothing personal."

"Of course not," Mike said, huffing out another sigh. He held out his hand, and Kevin shook it. Mike's fingers tightened. "So,” he drawling, shooting Kevin a speculative look. “If we're not trying to kill each other tonight?"

Kevin grinned, showing teeth, and hauled Mike in for another ferocious kiss.

====

The door banged off the wall hard enough to dent the plaster. “Do you always make out with your marks,” Mike panted against his lips.

“Not as a rule. Where is this?" Kevin mumbled, almost unintelligible as he tried to strip off Mike's shirt without breaking off their kiss.

"Safehouse," Mike hummed back, pushing Kevin's jacket off his shoulders until it landed heavily on the bare wooden floor.

Kevin absently hooked it with his foot and kicked it through the door towards the bed Mike was leading him too. "Safe's good," he commented, nibbling a trail down the side of Mike's neck.

"Got condoms," Mike said, rubbing his stubble along Kevin's jawline. "Let's use 'em."

Kevin grinned delightedly and finally wrested the damn t-shirt off him. Mike fell out of it backwards onto the bed, and Kevin crawled over on top of his, shaking off the sleeves of his button-down as he feasted his eyes on the sleekly defined muscle, peppered with the occasional scar.

"Like what you see," Mike said with a cocky smirk.

In response, Kevin slid backwards down the bed and tugged at Mike's jeans until they were halfway down his legs. "Oh yeah," he breathed, standing up as Mike kicked his pants off completely. Kevin took the opportunity to pull the hidden velcro tabs that released the kevlar shirt. He tossed it on the floor and crawled back up Mike's body. "I like," he all but purred as he pressed his mouth demandingly to Mike's.

"Enough that you definitely won't kill me tonight, right."

Kevin bit his lip. "Yes,” he snapped. “Don't spoil the mood." He popped the button to his jeans, grinding down again as Mike groaned with the movement.

Mike batted at his hips. "Off," he demanded. Kevin wriggled on his lap, working to loosen all the hidden straps and buckles, and Mike laughed, one arm thrown over his face. "Gah, off! Stop that, you evil bastard."

Kevin paused, and leaned forward, one hand splayed over the centre of Mike's chest for balance. "Does that mean you want me naked," he asked sweetly.

Mike bucked up underneath him, forcing Kevin back until he was standing at the end of the bed. "Off, jeans off, then back here." He pointed at his lap.

"Pushy," Kevin said with a grin so wide his cheeks were aching. He shimmied out of his jeans with the minimum of fuss and crawled back up. Mike made an approving noise. Kevin slid forward, chest to chest, and tried to kiss the sound out.

For a minute, only the soft sounds of their kisses, punctuated by the occasional murmur of approval filled the air.

Kevin froze as someone not him and not Mike cleared their throat. Slowly, making no sudden movements, he looked over his shoulder.

Joe was grinning, his eyes cold. Nick had his eyes covered entirely by his hand, his entire body half-turned away. In his other hand, a blade reflected the weak light pouring in through the open window. "Kevin," Joe said brightly. "Frankie was doing some digging on your mark, discovered he was ex-special forces, jarhead, semper fi, all that crap. We thought we'd come cover your ass if the job went bad on you..."

Nick made a distressed noise. "But now I just want you to cover your ass, please. Literally. _Please_."

Through where their bodies were touching, Kevin could feel Mike trembling. Then he smiled. The bastard was struggling not to laugh. "Well," he said sweetly. "As you can see, I have the situation covered," he leaned heavily on Mike. "And completely under control. Close the window on your way out."

In response, Joe kicked his clothes over to the bed. "We leave now," he said in a voice that brooked no argument. "Or we go home and tell dad where you are. Your choice."

Kevin sighed, looking down at Mike. Mike nodded, a tiny gesture. "Call me," he mouthed.

Kevin grinned, feeling suddenly, momentarily giddy. He pressed a hard, fast kiss to Mike's mouth, and leapt up.

Mike watched him lazily from the bed as he tugged his clothes on. The last thing Kevin saw was his tiny little wave before Nick tugged him away.

===

Kevin sat on the end of his own bed and watched Joe and Nick pace back and forward, crossing each other right in front of him. "You know, you keep this up, you're going to wear a hole in my rug," he pointed out.

Nick spun on the spot in front of him and jabbed his finger at Kevin's nose. "What were you thinking? No, seriously, what were you thinking? And don't lie and say it was part of your plan. All your tools were in your clothes, which you were not wearing when we came in." He paused for a moment to shudder delicately. "Why,” he asked finally with exquisite patience. “Is the mark still breathing?"

Kevin folded his hands together. "Something is wrong with this contract," he said flatly. "Mike and I agreed to an amnesty until Sunday night to sort it out."

Nick looked at him like he was the biggest fool he had ever seen. "Amnesty?" He rubbed the bridge of his nose, face wrinkled in real pain. "Father took the contract," he said at last in carefully measured tones, like a man laying down his final card.

Kevin looked him right in the eye. "Does that make it automatically correct?" he shot back.

As one, both Joe and Nick's eyes flashed around the room.

Kevin sighed and stood up. "I swept for bugs this afternoon. Come on, Nick, Joe, I saw you during the call. You were thinking the same thing I was."

Joe looked sideways at Nick. "Maybe I was," he hedged. "But what does the mark have to do with it."

Kevin wandered over to the window and checked that the drapes were fully drawn. "Mike's ex-military, just like Frankie said. He works executive protection, babysitting the rich and spoilt." He ignored the contemptuous little snort from Nick. "And he's just as suspicious of his contract as I am of mine."

"Why?" Nick asked. Despite his belligerent stance, Kevin knew he was intrigued too. Briefly, he sketched out what little information he and Mike had pieced together in the bathroom at the club.

Joe was tapping his fingers together, a nervous habit he had never been able to shake. "It all seems to come back to Beckett," he observed.

Kevin nodded. "See what you can dig up about him, family, background, assets, the whole story." He paused, but professionalism won out over the memory of Mike's kisses. "Carden too. Find out about his firm, past cases, check out his story."

Nick caught Kevin by the shoulders. "Finally, a glimmer of common sense," he said, giving Kevin a little shake. "But you owe us, brother, bigtime."

Kevin nodded glumly. Nick _always_ collected. "Okay, thanks."

Joe patted his arm. "Get some sleep. We'll be back in the morning."

Kevin showered and crawled into bed. He stared up at the dark ceiling for a long time before getting up and finding his cell. "Sleep well," he texted.

He fell asleep waiting for a reply.

===

Joe woke him by throwing a pillow at him from a safe distance. Kevin woke up fully, spitting feathers. "What?" he snapped groggily, putting the hunting dagger back onto his bedside table and brushing the remains of the pillow off his face.

"Frankie hit paydirt," Joe said. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his mouth was set in a thin line. "Come on."

Five minutes later, Kevin tugged his robe tighter around his waist and tried to make sense of it all. "Gabe _Saporta_? The Gabe Saporta? Head of the Cobra Clan, biggest crime lord in the Americas, runs half the organized crime between here and Argentina, _that_ Gabe Saporta?" He felt his brow wrinkling. “Why?”

In response, Frankie called up a photo on his laptop and span it around. Kevin blinked at the holiday snap, William Beckett wrapped up in Gabe's arms, both of them laughing, eyes only for each other.

"Okay," Kevin said faintly. "So, Gabe...what, orders the hit on his ex's bodyguard? That doesn't make sense."

Nick rolled his eyes, clutching a steaming cup of coffee. "What are you, hard of thinking?" he snapped. "Gabe hired _Carden_. He's not trying to hurt William, he's protecting him."

Frankie made a noise of acknowledgement. "Word on the street is that he's still carrying a torch for William."

Kevin stared at him. "Word on the street? Frankie, you're ten. How do you know the word on the street?"

Frankie tapped the side of his nose. "I have my ways," he said mysteriously despite the chocolate milk moustache.

Kevin shook his head and decided to choose his battles. "Okay, if Saporta is paying Carden, who's paying dad?"

"The Hush Syndicate," Nick said heavily.

"Who?" Joe asked.

Kevin chose his words with care, mindful of Frankie. "Saporta's biggest rival. They’re a group of smaller crime lords who banded together to become a real threat to some of his operations."

"Why Hush?" Joe asked with a laugh.

Nick's eyes were cold. "Because everyone who went up against them was never heard from again."

Joe froze. "Hushed. Got it," he squeaked.

Frankie was tapping on the keys. "I traced the account back. Dad fell for a shell company, but I figured it out," he added proudly. "Your contract was paid for by Greta Salpeter herself, the prima donna of the Syndicate. Get Carden out the way, William is wide open to be taken and used as leverage over Saporta."

Joe patted his shoulder. "Frankie, you're getting good at these briefings."

Frankie beamed. "Thanks for the props."

Kevin ignored them, too aware of Nick's eyes on him. "Kevin,” Nick said. “It's a legit contract. Strictly business."

Kevin couldn't bring himself to acknowledge that. "I'm still under amnesty until ten fifteen tonight. I'm going to talk to Mike."

"Talk or," Joe sketched quotes in the air with his fingers. " _Talk_?"

Kevin flipped him off and went back to his room to get dressed. Nick followed him. "Kev," he said softly. "He's a mark. Don't ever forget that."

Kevin found his nine mil still in its holster, and checked the load. "I haven't." The stock snapped back into place loudly into the silence that followed.

===

The guitar shop was open, doing a brisk trade for a Sunday morning. Mike saw Kevin through the glass and nodded meaningfully across the road. By the time Kevin had settled into his usual seat in the little nook (good sightlines, back to a wall, narrow approach), Mike was loping across the street.

He waved at the barista and slung himself into the seat next to Kevin, adjusting himself casually so that he had the widest range of vision possible. Kevin sipped his latte and, without preamble of pleasantries, launched into what Frankie and Joe had uncovered.

Mike drank his coffee and listened in silence. “Shit,” he murmured as Kevin finally wound down. “Damn, why did our research not turn up links to the fucking _Cobra Clan_?”

Kevin toyed with his spoon. “Probably the same reason we didn’t notice it was a shell company until we did some digging.” He tapped the spoon against his cup, once, twice.

Mike took a deep breath. “So is your contract good?” he asked quietly.

Kevin felt his lips curl. “Technically, yes.”

Mike leaned back in his chair. “Don’t fuck me around,” he said flatly. “Please, as a _professional courtesy_ ,” he sneered. “Be straight with me.”

Kevin leaned in. “Technically, using a shell is not grounds to ditch the contract. But I don’t like being lied to, I don’t like being played, and I really don’t like the game they’re running. To be honest, if the job was about William, you’d be organizing a funeral right now, but it’s not. They’re trying to go through you, and that’s…not elegant,” he said at last. “Messy. I don’t like messy. I don’t like collateral damage.”

Mike’s eyes were cold, and his hand had drifted casually below the table. “Bottom line, am I going to die?”

“Yes, eventually,” Kevin shot back. “Everybody does. Everything else is just a matter of timing,” he stressed the last word carefully, wary of their location.

Kevin could see the muscles in Mike’s forearm flex as he held on to whatever weapon he had below the table (based on arm posture and wrist movement, a standard issue special forces knife). “What,” Mike said at last with preternatural calm. “Did you have in mind?”

Kevin grinned, showing teeth. “The Syndicate has ordered your death. But according to the contract, all they want is to see a body hit the ground.” He ran his finger around the edge of his cup. “Amnesty runs until 10.15pm. Doing anything interesting before that?”

Mike’s shoulders relaxed slightly. “Actually, I’m free for the rest of the day.”

Kevin bit his lip to hide his smile.

===

He had a blurred impression of standard hotel room decoration as he pushed Mike through the suite and backwards onto the bed. This time, he wasted no time in getting naked – shoes and pants, jacket and shirt, Kevlar undershirt, all piled on the floor. On the bed, Mike was wriggling his jeans down his legs, shirt already off.

Kevin pulled his nine mil out, and Mike froze. “Relax,” Kevin said, leaning over him to put it on the nightstand. “Protection. If anyone tries to interrupt this time, they’re getting kneecapped.” He slithered back down over Mike, kneeling on the floor at the end of the bed to pull Mike’s jeans free. He let his eyes roam hungrily up Mike’s body.

Mike shoved one hand behind his head as he watched Kevin look his fill. “Where were we, anyway,” he asked, reaching out with his other hand to hook behind Kevin’s neck, pulling him in for a wet, open-mouthed kiss. “Here,” he mouthed against Kevin’s skin, licking his way down Kevin’s throat. “Or here.” He rolled them until Kevin was lying back on the sheets. “Or here,” he continued down, laving his tongue around one nipple before laying a row of neat little kisses down his belly.

They both froze at the sound from the main room. Kevin laid a stilling hand on Mike’s head. Mike looked up at him. “Lockpick?” he mouthed. Kevin nodded and reached out for his nine mil.

The picker was an amateur. Kevin would have been and gone already. As it was, he had time to get his pants and boots back on, and had his button down loosely over his shoulders before they heard the lock click and the door creak open.

Mike glanced at him, hair mussed, chest bare, a knife in his hand. Kevin snatched up his own t-shirt and tossed it to Mike. He pointed at the window with the muzzle of his gun. “Find William,” he mouthed back.

Mike gestured towards the other room. “Behave,” he mouthed back as he sketched a salute before vanishing out the fire escape.

Kevin pressed himself to the wall behind the open bedroom door and listened to the footfalls of someone trying to be stealthy. He rolled his eyes. Fucking amateurs, ruining a perfectly good afternoon quickie. He holstered his gun. Whoever they were, they were amateur enough not to be worth the bullet.

The intruder paused in the doorway, no doubt taking in the rumpled sheets, the open window. He took another step in.

Kevin put his full weight behind the door, slamming the intruder into the door jam. Before the guy could clear his head, Kevin grabbed the front of his shirt and swung him around to headbutt the back of the door. He staggered, obviously reeling, and Kevin swept his legs out from under him, dropping his knee on the guy’s solar plexus as he jabbed his stiffened fingers into the guy’s windpipe before flipping him over to choke on the carpet.

He took a moment to clear his wannabe attacker for weapons before settling more fully on the guy’s back. “Okay, you know the drill. Who are you, who sent you, what do you want?”

The intruders fingers flexed impotently on the carpet. “My name’s Darren, I’m ...I’m no-one, dude.”

Kevin captured one of Darren’s hands, pulling the arm back painfully as he twisted his hand around. The tiny tattoo of the Syndicate was inked on the soft underpart of his wrist. “Salpeter send you?” he asked roughly.

Darren nodded, chin scraping against the carpet. He was dribbling slightly, trying not to cough as the bruises on his windpipe started to swell up. If Kevin had ever known pity, he might have even felt sorry for the kid. “She…she wanted to know what was taking so long,” he spluttered.

Kevin pushed his knee hard in between Darren’s shoulderblades. “I have until Monday. The contract will be fulfilled by then. If your boss had been upfront about the target, particularly his military background, we could have dealt with matters much faster. As it is, I want to be satisfied that we won’t need a second shot before we take our first. That means surveillance, which will go a lot faster if I’m not being interrupted every five minutes.” He pushed his weight forward briefly for emphasis. “And you can pass that message along, got it?”

He left Darren struggling to breathe on the carpet and walked out the door, buttoning up his shirt as he waited for the elevator. Organized crime, he thought to himself. Bunch of amateurs, all of them.

He looked at his watch as he punched the button for the lobby. Six hours to go.

===

Kevin walked into the club and spotted Mike almost immediately, huddled up in a booth with William and a few other guys. As Kevin bellied up to the bar, he spotted at least half a dozen people who were watching him without looking.

Salpeter had provided an audience. Kevin signalled for a beer and turned to people watch for a little while.

The Cavern was a Chicago institution, the ultimate neutral zone. In five minutes, Kevin had spotted several more punks with the Hush tattoo, two or three of Chicago PD’s finest, and even Alex Surez, Gabe’s own personal mister fixit. It was quite a crowd. Kevin looked at his watch. 10:10pm.

He pushed off the bar as Mike stood up from his table, waving his packet of cigarettes at his friends. Kevin threaded his way through the crowds towards the back exit, one eye on Mike, one eye on everyone else.

The heavy fire door swung shut with a thud as Kevin let himself out into the alley. Mike was leaning against the far wall, one foot kicked back against the brickwork. Mike watched him approach, his eyes flicking up the fire escape for a moment before he settled back against the wall, his lighter hissing as he flicked on the tiny flame and relit his cigarette. He sucked in a lungful and nodded once at Kevin.

“Hey man,” Kevin said lightly. “Got the time.”

Carden didn’t even look at his watch. “Quarter past ten.” He flashed a smiled, a tiny quirk of his lips.

Kevin nodded, drew his silenced nine mil and fired two quick shots into Mike’s heart.

Mike jerked, eyes wide, as he was pushed into the wall by the force of hits. His head flew back as his legs gave way, and he crumpled to the ground slowly, scraping down the brickwork wall. Kevin walked slowly across the alley and knelt down by the body, pressing two fingers to the cardioid artery. He nodded once, satisfied and stood up.

There was a noise at the far end of the alley, voices. Kevin turned and walked calmly but quickly in the opposite direction. Coming out onto the street, he turned and melted into the flow of pedestrians, people coming and going from the clubs, bars and restaurants of the area.

He had to clench his fists to stop his hands from shaking.

Now was the hard part.

It was time to talk to the father.

===

“The contract has been satisfied?”

Kevin stood, back straight, hands neatly folded in front of him. “Yes father.”

“Excellent work, son.” His father leaned back in his chair and pulled out another red folder. For the first time, Kevin let himself wonder if his father had chosen that colour for a reason. “We have received a new contract, a wayward research scientist….”

“No.”

His father paused, one eyebrow delicately raised. “I beg your pardon.”

Kevin’s fingers tightened their grip on each other. “I’m out.” His father’s silence filled the room. “I…I got sloppy. I let my emotions get the better of me. I found myself asking questions I should not have been asking.” He hung his head. “I had doubts,” he finished quietly.

There was the soft rustle of fabric as he father stood up and gently touched his shoulder. “Kevin?” he asked, sounding honestly bewildered. His father didn’t understand doubt, had taught his sons it was a unaffordable luxury.

Kevin kept his eyes on his shoes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I never wanted to disappoint you, I just…”

His father’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, and for one horrifying moment Kevin thought that his father might actually go there, clean him up like just another loose end. Then his fingers were pulling Kevin into him, and for a dizzying second it was like when Kevin was eight and he figured out what his father really did for a living, how his father had held him close while he cried little boy tears of confusion.

Kevin came back quickly to the here and now, and wiped his cheeks with his free hand. “I’m sorry, but I need…”

“Hey,” his dad cut him off. “Shh, it’s okay. Take all the time you need. We’re family first, okay?”

Kevin nodded and stepped back, eyes still lowered.

“Where will you go?”

He shrugged. “Away, I guess. I just need some space, get my head straight, figure some things out without contracts and schedules and delivery dates.”

“Of course.” Kevin heard his father sigh. “And then you’ll come home?”

Kevin forced himself to look at his father straight in the eye, properly, for the first time since he was eight. “Maybe.” He turned, walked out of his father’s office and the job and the life, and didn’t look back.

===

Another city, another hotel room. Kevin let himself in with the keycard that had been waiting for him at reception, opening the door slowly, one hand inside his jacket, ready. He closed the door behind him, putting it on the chain.

His feet made no sound as he walked slowly across the plush carpet and through into the bedroom. He smiled and shrugged off his jacket, dropping it to the floor. His shirt followed, then his pants. He crawled onto the bed. “Hey.”

Mike smiled at him, hair ruffled and eyes sleepy. “Hey yourself.” He leaned up into Kevin’s kisses, sighing and hissing softly as Kevin kissed his way down Mike’s neck to lick gently at the massive, fading bruise over his heart.

“Where were we,” Kevin mumbled against the flat planes of Mike’s stomach.

He felt Mike’s soft little chuckle. “About here the last two times.” They both paused. “I don’t hear anything, do you?”

Kevin nipped at his skin. “I chained the door this time.”

“I bolted the windows.” Mike waved his hand. “Proceed.”

Kevin laughed. “Oh really?” He licked his way onto the treasure trail. “Like this?” He slid further down Mike’s body. “Or like this?”

After that, it was a tangle of limbs, sloppy kisses and wrestling for dominance, until Kevin was on his back and Mike was crawling over him to lower himself down, inch by inch, taking Kevin to the hilt.

Kevin felt his eyes roll back. “Fuck me,” he breathed.

Mike’s chuckled quietly. “Working on it,” he panted. “Just give me a second here.” He rocked forward, and Kevin groaned, arching up slightly as Mike picked up his rhythm.

Kevin skated his hands as far up Mike’s chest as he could reach, feeling the curves of his muscles and the rough edges of his scars. He pulled at Mike, urging him faster. “C’mon,” he muttered, pushing up in awkward time.

Mike gripped his own dick, tugging sharply, once, twice, three times. Kevin groaned as he felt Mike come, splattering over his stomach. He jerked up once more and came, his body shuddering, pinned between Mike and the mattress.

Kevin smiled sleepily as Mike ambled into the small en suite and returned with a cloth, wiping up the worst of the mess. “Worth the wait,” he murmured, tugging Mike into another kiss.

Mike tossed the cloth onto the floor and crawled back into bed with Kevin, pulling the covers up after him. He pushed his nose along Kevin’s cheek. “Hi,” he whispered into Kevin’s ear.

“Hey yourself,” Kevin replied, wrapping an arm around Mike’s waist an pulling them both around until they were comfortably spooned into each other. He sucked in a breath as he caught sight again of the ugly bruise on Mike’s chest. “You okay?”

Mike nosed into his hair. “Doing fine for a dead man.”

Kevin closed his eyes. “Any one you walk away from, huh?”

Mike made a small noise of agreement. “How’d things go at your end?”

Kevin shrugged in the loose circle of Mike’s arms. “Client thinks you’re dead, so contract fulfilled.”

Mike gave him a gentle squeeze. “After that, I meant.”

Kevin rolled his head from side to side. “Umm, yeah. I may have totally played my dad,” he admitted sheepishly.

“How?” Mike asked incredulously.

Kevin bit his lip. “By being totally honest and completely deceptive at the same time.” He still couldn’t quite believe his father had fallen for it, the whole moral quandary line. Maybe the old man was getting sloppy after all. Maybe it was time for a change in management at the old firm.

Mike laughed. “Attaboy,” he said, and Kevin put aside that line of thought for later.

“Your turn,” Kevin said, pinched his hip. “How’d you get away?”

“Gabe decided he owed me.” Mike admitted. “He had Surez and Blackington drag my corpse into his car for the benefit of those on the fire escape, and they dropped me off at the trainstation.”

Kevin tilted his head up and nibbled on the tip of Mike’s chin. “Hmm, well, you did just take a bullet for his long-lost love.”

“Two bullets, actually,” Mike grouched. “And no longer long-lost. William was so dazzled that Gabe went to all the trouble of protecting him from the nasty mean hitman,” Kevin giggled as Mike poked him. “He was pretty much climbing Gabe like a tree right over my pathetic corpse.”

Kevin couldn’t help but smirk. “Aww, how sweet, a gangland love story. Is that the way to your heart?” He added with an extra flutter of his eyelashes.

Mike snorted and rolled his eyes as he gently tapped his bruises. “Your way to my heart has already involved getting double-tapped in the chest at close range,” he said sarcastically. “If that’s your idea of romance, I better just give up all hope right now.”

Kevin fought to keep a straight face. “Okay, point, but I did give you my special Kevlar-lined t-shirt first,” he added in his defence. “You’ve got to admit, that’s better than flowers.”

Mike rolled his eyes but gave a grudging nod, and Kevin gave up trying to hold back his smile.

 

=fin=


End file.
